A Quiet Night

I sit crying into my beerother customers avoid me as if I had the plaguenone will ask why nor offer consolationthey’ve all seen the look of the broken hearted

They all know the cure is a gut load of grogand “no-strings” attached sexyet my sobs shake my shoulders so muchnot even the most sleazy womanapproaches me

My tears make my chips soggymy sniffles drown my steak in a special saucemy dinner looks like a stew that went off three weeks agoyet I still ate itmisery needs strengthstrength and a gut full of grog

So much grog every woman looks prettyso much grog you don’t know how you got homeor if the scratches on your face and arms was from a fist fightor falling into a fencea brick fence because there’s no splinters

Your mind awakens recollectionsof conversations facesbeing pushed into a caband the sudden realisationyou’d heard of Hermaphrodites’but had never met one until last night

And again this morning

One who states nothing happenedbut sits there a little too smugly

Finally you shower slowly go to work by the longest routebump into the cause of your heartachewho ask “How your night was”you hesitate a little too longbefore replying … “It was a quiet night!”